Ashes to Ashes
by Silence's Siren
Summary: The deaths Voldemort has caused upon returning to his body have affected Harry. The guilt begins to eat away at him. Will he be able to defeat Voldemort when the time comes?


**Please read the author's note at the end, it's very important**

This updated version of this story of sacrifice is dedicated to those who sacrificed so much to help my friends and I through our darkest hour, who gave us hope, courage, and a light to guide us through. Words are so inadequate to express my thanks for what you have done, but perhaps the following story of love beyond life will help...

Ashes to Ashes

by Juno

His eyes. They were the first thing she had noticed when she had met him, and they were the thing she noticed now. The first time she had seen him, before she had even realized who he was, she looked deep into his emerald eyes, loosing herself in their depth and innocence. Now they were different. His eyes seemed darker somehow, duller. They had lost the innocent shine she had first fallen in love with. But the quiet strength was still there, albeit muffled by dark undertones, it was still there. He had been quieter this year. No doubt suffering from every loss made. He was unique in that way. He would not have wished his burden on anyone, and yet he still found enough strength to shoulder the burdens of others. The Dark Lord had risen again, and while she knew that it had not been his fault, he still blamed himself. That coupled with the guilt he felt over the loss of a fellow student had eaten away at him over the summer, she was sure. He was not as bad now as he had been at the beginning of the year. He had returned to Hogwarts dangerously slim, as though he had not eaten at all over the holidays and she highly suspected he had not slept much at the time either when she saw the dark circles under his eyes. The fact that he had returned having almost memorized the required reading better than Hermione and having done nearly twice the amount of work as her meant that he had more than likely busied himself with anything he could find in order to forget the tragedy of the previous year he still blamed on himself. The pain that had dulled his normally brilliant eyes was obvious, but throughout the year, he had slowly regained some of the light in his eyes. It was not nearly as bright as it once had been, but it was a start.

Ginny Weasly slowly focused her attention back onto the food in front of her. She had not touched it yet and Ron was beginning to shoot her worried looks. This was the last meal they would all be eating together, it was the last feast at Hogwarts for her Fourth Year, and Ginny had every intention of enjoying it and not being bothered by her older brother. She turned to face Harry and smiled, her grin widened when she noticed the small tint of pink painting his cheeks. He had been acting strangely around her lately, and she found herself looking forward to the time when he would come to visit Ron this summer already.

Ginny had a comment prepared that was certain to cause him to blush when she noticed the far off glaze to his eyes. 

"Harry?" she asked uncertainly as she reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. Before she could offer him her comfort, however, he hunched forward, clutching his scar and hissing in pain. His head jerked upward and his eyes caught Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's before he was once again doubled over in pain. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were by his side in the same instant that Dumbledore had stood. 

No one moved much further than that before darkness descended upon the Great Hall. The floating candles had been snuffed, and the only light pouring into the hall came from the now wide open doors leading into the castle. Framed in the fading evening dusk, stood a slender, tall man. He floated across the threshold of the castle more than walked, and began to make his way down the center isle of the Great Hall. He stopped momentarily in front of Harry, and from beneath his hood, the ghost of a smile appeared. With a casual flick of his wrist, the man had pulled Harry up and out of his seat on the bench to lie prostrate in front of him. Slowly, the man lowered his hood to reveal a pair of blood red eyes and slitted nostrils. The man reached down a long, spider-like hand to caress the side of Harry's face, and Harry cried out softly in pain as the man touched his skin. 

"It is good to see that you no longer have your mud-blood mother's protection, or perhaps, more appropriately, it is good to see that your blood has given me your mother's protection as well," here the man paused as he looked upwards towards the staff table. The corners of his mouth turned slightly in the semblance of a smile. "Ah, Albus, so good to see you again, I trust you are doing well. I merely wished to stop by and leave young Potter here a present before I left. Congratulating him on a job well done last year. Had it not been for his blood, I would not have been resurrected. Oh, and just so that you won't interfere..." With a casual flick of his wrist a glowing dome of green and silver incased them. Now he glanced downwards to look at the boy at his feet. "Come now, boy, this will be quick and painless, die honorably like your father did." The man raised his wand, but, Harry, drawing from hidden reserves of strength pushed himself upright on his feet and glared hard at the man in front of him. Taking a shaky step backwards, and ignoring the pain flaring in his scar, he stared defiantly at the man.

"What do you want, Voldemort?" Almost everyone in the Great Hall flinched at the name of the Dark Lord, and several began to sob loudly in terror.

"Oh, I would have thought that would have been fairly obvious by now, come Harry, think." 

"I won't let you hurt my friends anymore!" Harry shouted at the menacing figure.

The man, however, merely chuckled, "No matter how amusing it might be to see you suffer while you watch your friends die, I'm afraid I have run out of patience with you boy. How poetic it will be, that on the first year anniversary of my resurrection, I shall kill the one who supposedly brought my downfall. This ends here and now! Avada Kedevra!"

Harry just barely managed to raise his wand in time to yell out a curse, the words drowned out by the rush of energy from the sickly green light. Of course, for the moment, they did not matter. The type of curse used was insignificant, the only thing of any importance was the thin, fragile strand of spun gold linking the two wands to one another. Voldemort, however, wore a sadistic grin of victory on his face as he saw the golden strand beading with tears of liquid fire, the phoenix song echoing around the cavernous Great Hall. With a powerful wrench of his arms, Voldemort had thrown his wand arm downwards, severing the link between the Boy-Who-Lived and the Dark Lord. Harry in surprise at the unexpected movement was thrown backwards by the sheer force of the broken connection.

High pitched, cruel laughter hung suspended in the air, the tainted chords of disunity cloaking the shaken students in shrouds of fear and cold realization. Harry's wand lay across the expanse between two of the house tables where it had come to rest after being launched from the boy's grasp. The young fifth year wizard looked forlornly at the wand, no more than five feet away, just barely out of reach but feeling as though it lay worlds away. A gloating smile flitted across Voldemort's face, making the red eyes burn like the bowels of Hell and transforming the snake like face into a demonic imitation of glee.

Harry raised his head, appearing surprisingly calm and accepting. With blood freely running down his face as the old wound from that Halloween night nearly fourteen years ago had reopened, Harry appeared eerily detached and in control despite the weeping scar. The pale tranquility of his face contrasted sharply to the brilliant red of his blood. Even Voldemort paused at the expression of ultimate control on his obviously conquered foe. That split second of hesitation was all Harry needed to leap into action as a burning anger replaced the placid calm of before. He had his wand in his hand and raised before anyone could react or even begin to understand how he had called the holly with a phoenix feather core to his hand. In the next instant, words no one had ever imagined hearing come from the Golden Boy's mouth were yelled with such conviction and force that not even Voldemort could predict the ferocity of the spell.

"Avada Kedevra!" he cried with all his emotions and energy. A brilliant beam of emerald green light, the same color as Harry's eyes and much darker than a normal Killing Curse, soared towards Voldemort. It hit him square in the chest. His body flew upwards in a graceful arc before coming to a rest several feet from it original position. The shimmering shield of energy that had before encased the duel between the two wizards flickered then dissipated into nothingness. With that spell's shattering, another more far reaching one was broken. Harry held his breath and waited while all around him, wizards and witches broke into pandemonium. Some cheered, smiled, and celebrated just as they had done when the Harry had first become the Boy Who Lived. Most, however, sobbed loudly, the horrors of the world and the corruption of innocence finally being revealed to their eyes. 

Even the Great Hall's raucous sobbing and cheering could not stop the eyes of the hall from seeing Harry's quiet step backwards or his emerald eyes as they widened in fear and reluctant admittance. "I didn't think you would die so easily." His quiet words were easily heard in the now deafening silence of the hall.

Students watched in horror as the heap of unmoving black robes twitched and straightened out. Voldemort's body suddenly became rigid and rose into the air. Still floating two inches above the ground, his body glided into a standing position. "Harry, Harry, Harry, now did you really believe I could be defeated that easily, by a simple curse none the less."

Defeated, Harry sighed, "That was no simple curse, Voldemort, you know that as well as I do, but I had not really expected it to work. However, I had still hoped it would not end like this."

"You should have known not to cross me, Harry. Now there is no other way it can end. You shall die, along with your friends, unable to save any of them. That has become a habit for you, has it not Harry? To sit back and watch, while I kill your friends?"

Harry's eyes blazed in cold fury, but the guilt stood out painfully among the flames. His robes were flapping in an unseen breeze, powered by the force of the emotions Harry was feeling. He was lined lightly in red and gold flames as an aura of pure, unadulterated magic blossomed from his anger and guilt. He slowly raised his arm out in front of him and faced his palm towards Voldemort. Then with a look of the utmost concentration, he called out a final spell. 

"Accio Sword of Gryffindor!" Harry concentrated to pull the swords from the strong protections Dumbledore had erected in his office, and it soon became obvious that of all the spells people had been expecting to hear from Harry, this was perhaps the furthest from their minds. Either not noticing or not caring about the astonished looks the students and professors were giving him, Harry looked up at the one person who would possibly understand what was about to occur. Dumbledore was perhaps the only one who did not look nonplussed. His shoulders sagged with a great burden, and his normally brilliant blue eyes dimmed with sadness. He watched regretfully as the ruby studded sword glided effortlessly into Harry's outstretched palm, a perfect fit. It was then that Harry knew Dumbledore had discovered exactly what he was about to do, and the fact that it saddened his headmaster filled him determination. He had to do this, for himself and for all of those who loved and cared for him, so that no one else would suffer because he was alive.

"I realize now, Voldemort, that I can't kill you with my wand, or my magic, because we both share each other's blood." Harry ignored the frightened gasps from around him. "The night that you killed my parents and attempted to curse me, I was left with your power, and your blood. And then, when you took my blood that night in the graveyard, we were bonded by more than our wands. I hold within me the power as the Heir of Gryffindor and as the Heir of Slytherin, just as you do. That's why you can't kill me, and I can't kill you. Gryffindor's heir can't kill another Gryffindor heir, just as a Slytherin's heir can't kill another Slytherin heir." Here Harry smiled. Not a grin that he often gave to Ron and Hermione, but a small, sad upturning of the corners of his mouth. "But with Gordric Gryffindor's sword, I can kill the Slytherin part."

Voldemort laughed high and cruelly as his blood red eyes sparkled in morbid fascination. "I'm afraid that you will not come close enough for that sword to be of any use on me." He smiled in triumph as he pointed his wand at Harry. "I'll give you credit, boy, you are smarter than you appear. I was not expecting you to discover that particular secret, but I know more ways to kill a person than the Killing Curse. And if I use Dark Magic, then there will be no mistaking the Slytherin in my spell. It will kill the Gryffindor in you."

Harry stared long and hard at Voldemort, then slowly looked down at the glinting metal in his hand. The golden hilt sparkled benignly up at him, and the egg sized ruby buried in the gold shone with a soft, comforting warmth. The two colors blended together, forming the colors of the noble crest of Gryffindor. Then Harry let his gaze fall to the gleaming silver of the blade. Its harsh light reflecting off the razor edge and burned into Harry's eyes. He stared at the sword for a moment longer, the colors of Gryffindor shining brilliantly in his hand. However, the clear, shining silver of the blade, Harry's regretful eyes were reflected with surprising clarity. The silver of the blade and the green of his eyes perfectly mirrored the Slytherin banner hanging high overhead, but within the reflected image of his eyes, shining in brighter and more radiant tones, was a spark of strength, but most of all guilt. Harry's head rose slowly as he forcefully removed his gaze from the evil glint of the silver blade. His emerald eyes burned brighter than they ever had before as the silver reflected menacingly in them.

"Who said I was going to use the sword on you," Harry spoke with an eerily calm voice, a voice devoid of all emotion. 

Then with one final, mournful glance that betrayed more about his feeling than his guarded vioce had, Harry plunged the blade deep into his own heart until it was buried to the hilt. He dropped soundlessly, only the dull chink of the sword hitting the ground letting them know that he had fallen. The golden hilt and rubies shone with a warm, glowing light. The silver blade, however, was hidden, half of the sword was buried within Harry's body and the other half was permanently stained a vivid red, the same color as the ruby in the hilt.

Silence fell over the hall as students and professors alike stared in disbelieving horror, but the quiet was quickly broken by a high pitched scream. Before their eyes Voldemort's body began to smoke, a blossom of crimson was billowing from his robes, just over his cold heart. Then his entire body was incinerated by brilliant crimson and gold flames before a healing wind swept through the Great Hall and caught the black ashes of the fire in its gale, forever removing the last of the Dark Lord's legacy. 

Harry coughed lightly, trying to whisper something past the bubbling blood filling his lungs and pooling quickly beneath his body as his heart struggled to beat in his last moments. His eyes were pain filled, and for the first time since Cedric had been killed before him, a shimmer of child-like innocence briefly lit his eyes, before that too dulled. "So cold," he whispered softly, a slight gurgle to his voice as the blood that no long heated his veins collected in his throat and beneath his body. The odd child-like quality that had been in his eyes colored his voice as well. "So sorry..." The whisper died along with the gleam of innocence in Harry's now clouded eyes.

The soothing wind that had carried the black soot of Tom Riddle's body away from the once pure stone of Hogwarts, returned with a gentle calm and swept lazily past Harry's prone form, caressing his cooling face and ruffling his unruly black hair affectionately. The students gasped in dismay as the wind suddenly burst into an inferno, consuming Harry Potter's inert body in the same scarlet and gold flames. The flames of his funeral bier, unlike Voldemort, reached the ceiling of the Great Hall, and the enchanted roof burst into color. Its rafters and crevices poured forth a cleansing light, and a dawning sun rose on the ceiling's horizon. Phoenix song filled the room and the crimson and gold flames that had surrounded Harry's body filled the ceiling of the Great Hall until slowly condensing and forming the body of a phoenix. The unearthly song became louder as the magical bird began to trill a calming, poignant song, each note hanging for a moment in the air before drifting into obscurity. Bitter tears slid down everyone's face as the wizards and witches openly wept, the cry of the mournful bird releasing their moans. With a great sweep of his flaming wings, and a last woeful chord of parting, the shining phoenix melted into the crimson of the dawn. The light in the Great Hall receded as the magic that had created the dawn on the enchanted ceiling left with the bird of flames, and the sobbing masses were once again alone in darkness. Dumbledore's sad, tear stained face followed the birds path long after everyone else had lost sight of it. The lines in his old worn face stood out fiercely against his sorrowful blue eyes.

"There was nothing to forgive, Harry," Dumbledore whispered to the Boy-Who-Had-Lived, his voice nothing more than a faint murmur of grief and gratitude, but nonetheless everyone in the Great Hall felt their tear-filled eyes drawn to their headmaster even if no one had heard his quiet words spoken purely for the student whom he had come to love as one of his own. "Grieve his death," he began softly, his soft voice filling the entire room and reaching into all the shadows that had been filled with the phoenix's flaming light only moments ago. "But do not forget his life. From this sorrow shall rise resurrected happiness, and from this end shall rise a new beginning. Just as the phoenix rose from the flame, so too, shall the light rise from the darkness. From the death of one, will come the life of many, from his sacrifice shall rise life. Do not let this dawn of a new day fade too quickly into twilight. The sun must rise just as it has set. And from the destruction and the ashes rises the phoenix. Like that immortal bird of flame we shall rise from the depths of despair, from the ashes of death. For it is within those ashes that life is snuffed as well as ignited. So let it be with us, that the noble sacrifice is treasured as a gift of life, not death. For both have sprung from the same. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, birth to death. They are all the same. One grants us the other. And in his flame burned the future of our world, a gift left cleansed by fire, but ash most of all..."

Author's Note:

I don't know what possessed me to write this fanfic, but once the idea popped into my head, I couldn't let it die. So I wrote it down. This fic was incredibly sad, and normally I don't write sad endings to my fics. I tend to write happy ones because I believe that if we see the positive side in life, then the ending is always happy. But when this idea took root, I could not leave it unwritten. And so here is my first Harry Potter fic. Sad? Yes, but I wrote it to serve a purpose. Look beyond just the words, there is a lot of symbolism in this fic, and Dumbledore's words at the end are meant to uplift and bring everyone together. I've got in my mind a sequel, explaining the phoenix and perhaps not leaving everyone crying, but I can't make any promises, I might not even write the sequel. It all depends on the type and number of responses I receive for this. Harry is the tragic hero in the J. K. Rowling books, and while his death was poignant, his life was even more so. In death, as in his life, Harry was always the hero other people saw in him, but he never saw in himself. While Harry's body may have been killed, his spirit lived on, influencing and guiding all of those wise enough to see him as he truly was. He sacrificed himself because he loved everyone, it was not in his nature to hate. Despite the fact that he grew up without love, Harry demonstrated a love beyond all others. This fic was written to explain Harry's love and the pain he felt from the death of others, and also to carry the light of the message I believe Harry's life represents. If you didn't enjoy my story, I don't blame you, it was not meant to be entertainment. It was meant to make you think. It was meant as a story about life, love, and sacrifice. If the hidden meaning in my story has eluded you, don't worry, in some ways, I think the even greater meaning of this story has eluded me as well. Take my words to heart, I don't mean to preach, but the bleakness some people portray in Harry's life seemed wrong to me. He may not have grown up with love, but he knew the meaning of the word better than most. I realize Harry is not a real person, but the lessons he teaches us should not be overlooked or forgotten, it should be remembered and heeded. Because without love, what do we have left?

Love always,

Juno


End file.
